I have spent my lifetime—particularly my professional life—extolling the virtues of small and simple craft. I’ve done this so well that I am now able to live aboard a large, complicated craft. Ah, sweet success!
People often ask my religion and I blurt, “… hypocrisy!” I mean, really, what did the American educational system teach me other than cheating, stealing, lying, bullying—plus the virtues of extreme selfishness? And what better life-skills can you have if intent on murdering the planet and all its various guppies? Sure, some overly-moral people aboard the Titanic didn’t grab an extra dessert—silly them!
Let’s face it—the Kardashians are the current moral compasses of Planet Earth. Many of the folks voting for Trump are sincerely worried he’s too nice!? And why shouldn’t the Koch Brothers buy the election? In a democracy, doesn’t every dollar get a vote?
So what if there’s nothing good on TV—when you can tune into America falling apart for free.
Why should air be free? I mean—think about it. Why shouldn’t maids, waitresses, and construction workers kick in their fair share? Isn’t suggesting otherwise socialism?
And if the Nanny State just gives its citizens clean air without them working hard for it—doesn’t that just ultimately teach them to be dependent? And what would those suddenly empowered ‘free-ride’ citizens demand next? Clean water?
Isn’t the cheap heroin flooding into the east coast enough?
The sickest part of all this is that by the time future generations realize there’s no hope of reversing climate change—they’ll all have melanoma! Plus, it would be doubly cruel to leave the Millennials with half a tube of sunblock—why not just assure them a quick death?
Sure, I was worried about selling out to The Man in the 1960s—but not nearly as horrified as I was to discover there were no buyers in the 1980s.
Here’s a single-sentence history of our planet: once upon a time there were good people but they died.
That’s clear enough, isn’t it?
But, hey, this is a marine column and thus we must stick to covering the waterfront—no matter how polluted that greasy harbor might be.
From 1989 to 1995 we had no engine aboard our Hughes 38 Wild Card. Now I have a Perkins M92B and think of a ‘fair wind’ as a breeze that blows our exhaust fumes away from the cockpit.
Oh, there’s a lot of irony in the Caribbean: Who knew that the island tune Hot, Hot, Hot was about water temperature?
Do you like Sargassum seaweed? Good, because it will soon be all you have to eat.
The funniest part is that when I couldn’t afford to pollute, I was desperately worried about doing so. Now that I’ve worked myself into a position to assist with the imminent, quick, efficient destruction of our planet—I don’t care! I’ve got compassion fatigue. I mean, really, I’ve never met another homo sapien I liked—well, other than my wife … every other evening.
Let’s put it another way: If future generations aren’t worried about Cap’n Fatty, why should Cap’n Fatty be worried about future generations?
All my life, wise people have been telling me to be in the moment—and now that I am, they say I’m selfish! Well, yeah! I see no reason my generation should leave the next generation any energy—besides, they’re lazy bums! If they really want energy, why don’t they go out and steal it from the Arabs like my generation did? Because they’re too busy on Facebook? Boo hoo!
My sincere intention, while purchasing such a high-class craft as a Palmer Johnson 43 (the moniker under which Ganesh was marketed in the States), was to experience the horrors of such a posh vessel and faithfully report back to my hardcore fans that, indeed, cruising vessels costing: (1) over a hundred bucks; (2) purchased outside a dumpster versus within it; and (3) above the surface of the water versus below it … were totally awful to own.
Gosh, it didn’t work out that way.
I’m married to a Sicilian named Carolyn. We have six doors on Ganesh. I’ll tell you, my wife is in heaven! Carolyn loves to slam all those mahogany doors whenever she gets mad at me—around every five minutes or so.
Actually, that’s not true. We’re two peas in a pod. We never fight. Frankly, we can’t bear to be away from each other … Which is why we have twin intercoms in our twin heads—so we can continuously wish each other good outcomes.
Ganesh has a huge cockpit. It is so much fun to fill it up with aspiring one-percenters, sail to Haiti, India, or Africa—and watch the local shore populace drop like flies.
Ah, the joys of modern marine travel!
And, yeah, sure—we’re studying about endangered marine species first hand. There’s a lot to learn. Right now we know that turtle meat is darker and tougher than whale meat. And, yes, we’re keeping our eye on the few remaining reefs that are left—I never pass one by without anchoring and bemoaning their passing.
Of course, yacht defense is a hot topic. I have to admit that I looked into purchasing a small atomic ‘smart weapon,’ which could be dropped on the lower 20% of income earners with devastating effect. (Washington’s idea of continuously starving them seems so cruel—not to mention, time-consuming!)
Regardless, I don’t complain. If I have to sail my fourth circumnavigation in a large, planet-wide ocean of steam—so be it. We carry thousands of rounds of ammo aboard, and firmly believe in brotherhood. (Meaning I don’t shoot my brother or either of my two sisters—but first cousins get no mercy.)
Yes, it’s a Brave New World—and it’s doubly fun to be getting the last few bites of it.
Editor’s note: Cap’n Fatty and Carolyn are currently hiding in S’pore, watching the gum-chewers get caned.
Cap’n Fatty Goodlander and his wife Carolyn are currently on his third circumnavigation. Fatty is the author of Chasing the Horizon and numerous other marine books. His latest, Creative Anchoring, is out now. Visit: fattygoodlander.com